


all you have to give

by maulotaur



Category: One Piece
Genre: Ace is mentioned, Angst, Dialogue Heavy, Friendship, Gen, I suppose, Post-Marineford
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 14:49:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17246162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maulotaur/pseuds/maulotaur
Summary: Sengoku wasn’t prepared for this, and he was starting to realize that his reason for meeting Garp should not have been a cheap fear for himself, but something else altogether.





	all you have to give

It took a month for Sengoku to approach Garp for the first time after the war.

Garp had left Marineford without a word mere days after handing in his resignation, and for a moment, Sengoku was genuinely afraid he wouldn’t be coming back. He wouldn’t have put it past Garp; he’d up and left before, disappearing for weeks without so much as a heads-up. He’d always called either Sengoku or Tsuru eventually, laughing at their exasperation while giving nonchalant apologies for forgetting to tell them that he’d be taking ‘a few days’ off. Nowadays, Sengoku knew that Garp had gone to his family during those illicit vacations. He had a feeling that this, too, was some sort of a family affair.

Sengoku really tried to be offended that Garp had done this _again,_ but there was a nagging feeling inside him that told him he deserved it this time. His logical half argued that _no,_ he didn’t, and Garp had no reason to avoid him, they had both known that their actions had consequences.

“He just needs some time alone,” Tsuru said over tea. They had withdrawn into her small apartment in the temporary barracks that had been built after the war had destroyed half of Marineford tower and, by extension, many of the officers’ private quarters. “You can’t blame him for that.”

“I don’t,” Sengoku said, not entirely truthfully, and they both knew it. “Has he contacted you?”

Tsuru looked at him, a small smile lingering on her lips. It was only then that Sengoku noticed how tired she looked. “He has not,” she answered, taking a sip of her tea. “I don’t think he intended for anyone here to find out, but he headed to East Blue. That’s all I know.”

“So it is as I suspected, then,” Sengoku sighed. He rolled his tea mug in his palms and tried to appear indifferent, but Tsuru probably saw right through him. The knowledge that Garp still had something waiting for him in the East Blue was incredibly soothing, but there was also a pang of jealousy that Sengoku knew was selfish, and a tiny feeling of shame that was attached to it.

Tsuru raised an eyebrow in that particular way that signaled that she could tell what was going on in his head. She chose, however, not to press him, and instead leaned back in her comfy chair and drew her knees close to her chest. “Well, that’s something Garp will have to sort out himself,” she said. “What about you?”

“What do you mean, ‘what about me’?”

“You know what I mean. Retirement? Will this satisfy you?”

Sengoku couldn’t help laughing uncomfortably. “Well, I wouldn’t say ‘satisfy’, but my feelings on the issue hardly matter at this point, don’t you think?” he sniffed. “Let’s face the facts, I’m an old man. Regardless of what Kong might want, my time has passed.”

Tsuru was silent for a moment, seemingly disentangling and considering conflicting viewpoints before arriving to a conclusion, all in a matter of seconds, as was so typical of her. Slowly, she said, “I still haven’t done everything I could to further our cause. That’s why I’m staying. If you don’t think you have anything more to offer to the Navy, then it’s better that you quit.”

Tsuru really had a knack for boiling the most complicated of matters down to the simplest of terms. “Precisely.”

“But you’re wrong,” Tsuru continued. “I _don’t_ think that your feelings are of no importance. They shouldn’t affect your decision, and I know they won’t, but they matter. We’ve been friends for so long that I think I can safely claim to understand you even when you don’t explain yourself to the last detail.” She paused, and then said in a slightly quieter voice, “I found my purpose in the Navy, too.”

_Oh,_ Sengoku thought. Tsuru also had this very inconvenient habit of stripping people of their defenses with a few words. In the past, Sengoku had thought time and again that he had finally gotten used to it, only to find out that he really had not. He hurried to hide his expression in his mug and burnt his tongue.

“And you should talk to Garp once he returns,” Tsuru said. “Whatever still remains unresolved between you shouldn’t be left that way.”

 

*

 

While waiting for Garp’s return, Sengoku drowned himself in work (he had already handed in his own resignation, but it didn’t mean he could just opt out of the aftermath of a war he had led) and played with his goat and slept maybe three hours a night. He dragged Tsuru out for tea twice more before she finally snapped at him, saying that she had her own load of work to deal with. “You’ve had almost eighty years to make friends, so if I alone make up fifty percent of them, then that’s your problem,” she said and slammed her door shut in front of him. There was a hint of amusement in her voice, though, and Sengoku laughed as well.

Still, there was a rather cutting edge of truth in her words that Sengoku tried very hard to disregard. He had never exactly _sought_ friendship. His younger self had believed that having too many attachments was unwise for someone like him, a sailor and a soldier, always ready to go and die for another man’s cause. (Right, well, and it might’ve been true that he’d been _somewhat_ difficult to get along with in his youth.) Garp and Tsuru had just kind of happened. Sengoku had colleagues whom he could maybe call “drinking buddies” on a good day (those had been scarce for a while now), but it seemed like he didn’t have enough affection for more than two close friends.

And it had always worked just fine for him, honestly. It just meant that all that space unoccupied by social life was filled with work and some more work, and now that work was quickly and inevitably coming to rather an ugly end.

He felt pretty pathetic, but the truth was that he was maybe a bit afraid of losing Garp in addition to his job, loyalty and ambition, because if he did, there would be significantly less joy in his life.

 

*

 

Sengoku strode along the quay, a backpack hanging from his shoulders. There was a chilly breeze that threatened to give him shivers even though he was dressed warmly in a sweater. Garp had finally come back to Marineford; Sengoku had gone to his private quarters, found out that the man was nowhere to be seen, and then knocked on a dozen office doors before someone generously informed him that Garp was still aboard his flagship and apparently planned to stay there for an indeterminate amount of time.

The ship was moored and appeared quiet. Sengoku studied it for a moment, considering the way the masts rose against the dusky purple hues of the evening sky. _God, it’s so tacky,_ was the immediate gut reaction the ship evoked in him, even after all these years. He distinctly remembered the day Garp had introduced him to the shiny new vessel and its awful dog-shaped figurehead. His expression had been so appalled that Garp had laughed until he’d almost choked on his spit.

The gangway was lowered, so Sengoku promptly climbed up. His footsteps alerted a watchkeeping seaman, whose short figure soon appeared above him. “Oh,” the soldier said. “Good evening, sir. How can I help you?”

Judging by his slightly awkward expression, he already knew what Sengoku was after. “Is Garp here?”

“Yes, sir, he should be in his cabin. Can I – “

“No need, thank you,” Sengoku cut him off. He hopped onto the deck and started walking towards the stern. “You can go back to your duties.”

“Aye-aye, sir,” the seaman said, sounding a little defeated. Sengoku sympathized, really; it was public knowledge that, even under the best of circumstances, meetings between him and Garp could occasionally lead to cracked walls, shattered windows and broken noses. Their subordinates were used to it, but by no means did they enjoy it. Sengoku had no intention to end this visit on a bad note, but intentions never amounted to much when dealing with Garp, so he could only hope that the evening wouldn’t turn out to be a disaster.

Despite its outrageous appearance, the layout of Garp’s ship was – for the most part – similar to any other battleship’s, so Sengoku would’ve found his cabin even if he hadn’t known his way around as well as he did. He stood in front of the door for a moment, collecting himself. He was about to knock when heavy footsteps from behind the wall stopped him in his tracks, and then the door swung open before him.

Garp stood in the doorway. “Oh, it’s you,” he said. Sengoku just blinked. Haki, of course. Garp’s proficiency still sometimes astonished him. Unlike Sengoku, who'd had to abuse himself to gain even basic control over his own haki, Garp had always been a natural. “Yeah, it’s me,” Sengoku said redundantly. “I came to talk.”

Garp rubbed his neck. “I was kind of thinking of going for drinks with Gion and Toki…”

“Cancel it,” Sengoku said bluntly. He winced internally at the commanding tone and continued, hoping to sound at least somewhat placatory: “I’ve been waiting to talk to you for days. I really think we should do this now, Garp.”

Garp stared at him for a moment, expression strangely indecipherable for a man whose lack of a poker face was a widely known fact. Then he shrugged and moved aside to let Sengoku in. “Yeah, sure, whatever, make yourself at home,” he said, walking to the couches that lay in the middle of the cabin. He plopped down onto the one couch that wasn’t presently covered in clothes and assorted rubbish, raising one leg onto the backrest.

It came as no surprise for Sengoku that Garp’s cabin once again looked like he’d fought a dozen pirates or held a wrestling competition in there. Anything that wasn’t bolted to the floor had obviously been moved around until the current state of disarray had been reached. His desk was cluttered with log poses, empty donut boxes and work papers (at least some of which were probably important and past their deadlines). Sengoku had witnessed the same phenomenon occur in Garp’s private quarters and even in their shared dormitory room back in their cadet days. It had been a source of great frustration for him. “Why on Earth are you skulking in here?” he asked while clearing room for himself on the other couch.

“I’m not skulking,” Garp scoffed. “I don’t want to come ashore. I’m afraid that if I catch a glimpse of Akainu, I won’t be able to control my fists.”

“Don’t be childish,” Sengoku sighed, wiping the largest cracker crumbs away before sitting down. “Sakazuki is busy with his own duties. He’s shipping out tomorrow, so at least you can come out then.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’s with the rucksack?”

“Oh, right.” Sengoku had almost forgotten about it. He rummaged through the bag and proceeded to pull out two bottles of sake. He knew that they both _really_ should’ve been sober for this, but his more pressing need for some liquid courage had triumphed in the end.

Garp’s face lit up like a beacon. “Oh, you should’ve said that you came bearing offerings!” he laughed. Sengoku shoved one bottle into his extended hand and opened his own. They didn’t bother to toast because, truthfully, there wasn’t anything worth toasting. The drink wasn’t very good, either, but Sengoku would’ve drunk paint thinner if it had washed away his anxiety.

They drank in silence for a while. Sengoku had hoped that he’d find the right words without thinking. He’d hoped that Garp would break down and he would kind of pat his back and tell him it wasn’t his fault and Garp would be grateful to him and then everything would be almost all right. Of course he’d known that this just wouldn’t play out like that, but he had hoped. Eventually, it was Garp who spoke first. He rolled onto his side, bottle in one hand and head propped against the other. “Listen, I don’t want to hear you say you’re sorry for what happened,” he said. His words were light, nearly cheerful; Sengoku could, however, see the strain in his smile. What he meant was probably, ‘ _I know what you’re here for and I don’t want to talk about it, so let’s just drink and pretend nothing’s wrong’_.

Sengoku couldn’t comply with that wish. He took a breath. “And yet, I _am_ sorry,” he replied.

“No, I don’t want to hear you say things you don’t really mean.” There was definitely an angry undertone in Garp’s voice, now. “You’re _not_ sorry for Ace’s death, and you don’t have to be. You can just say that justice happened and we’ll leave it at that.”

“Oh, so you get to decide that?” Sengoku asked, a bit more acidly than he’d meant. Garp covered his eyes with his hand, laughing. “Well, it was an execution, wasn’t it?” he shot back. “We don’t execute people unless it’s for the sake of justice, right?”

Sengoku had also hoped that he’d last at least a little while without losing his temper. The odds had never been in his favor. “What, you think I _wanted_ any of this to happen?” he snapped. “Had there been any way to avoid – “

“There _was!"_  Garp sat up, looking bewildered. “You could’ve just – left him alone! It’s not like killing him was the only option!”

“We couldn’t leave him alone after Blackbeard handed him over to us! It was all over right then and there, and you know it!”

“So, waging war with Whitebeard was the only way to deal with the situation? Do you really think Ace deserved to be treated like that?”

Sengoku almost blurted out ‘ _if you wanted him to live that much, then why didn’t you save him yourself?’_ but he managed to bite down on his tongue before the words slipped out; he knew the answer already, and he knew that if he went down that path, there would be no going back. The conversation had escalated enough already. Trying not to grit his teeth, he said instead, “I don’t know what Ace deserved. I know that he was Roger’s son and that he had become considerably powerful in a _very_ short time, and I know that it was my job to put an end to it.”

“Being someone’s child isn’t a crime,” Garp hissed. “Ace’s life was his own. Just being Roger’s son didn’t mean that he was going to be the next pirate king or anything like that.”

“But he still chose piracy,” Sengoku said rigidly. “If he had lived his life quietly, without breaking the law, I wouldn’t have had anything against leaving him alone. Believe it or not, I would’ve infinitely preferred that to this current situation. And maybe he would’ve grown up to be a fine citizen, too, if it weren’t for – “He suddenly realized what he was saying and bit his lip before he could bring the train of thought to its unseemly end.

It was too late, though. Garp’s head snapped up. “If it weren’t for _what?"_ he asked, a crooked, incredulous smile on his lips. “Oh, if it weren’t for _me?_  Was that it? Maybe Ace would still be alive if I hadn’t fucked up?”

Sengoku felt all color drain from his face. “No, that’s not – “

Garp interrupted him with a loud laugh. It was forceful and desperate, and for one fleeting second, Sengoku thought that he was seriously going to hit him with the bottle or drag him out and throw him overboard. But he didn’t; he just stopped laughing and took the kind of trembling breath that someone who’s very close to crying takes. “Yeah, it’s probably true,” he said. “You’re right. I really, really tried to raise him to be a marine. And I messed up. I know that."

The silence that ensued was heavy and suffocating. Sengoku could feel a very specific flavor of panic starting to creep up his back. Garp normally wore his heart on his sleeve, but not of his own accord; he felt so strongly that he couldn’t hide it, not even when he perhaps would have wanted to. In Sengoku’s eyes, it had been irritating when his emotions had gotten in the way of a mission, and admirable when they had amplified his resolve and boosted his crew’s morale as well. Most of all, Sengoku had found immense relief in the fact that, whether for the better or the worse, the feelings reflected on Garp’s face were always sincere. And now, well, right now, Garp sounded so frighteningly bitter and his face was scrunched up in a futile attempt to hide at least a bit of his sadness, and Sengoku found himself at a loss because even he understood that what he absolutely _could not_ do was pat his back and tell him that 'it wasn’t his fault'. He wasn’t prepared for this, and he was starting to realize that his reason for meeting Garp should not have been a cheap fear for himself, but something else altogether.

_Oh,_ Sengoku thought in a sort of numb epiphany. _I’m a pretty shitty friend._

Garp’s knuckles were white around the sake bottle. Sengoku could tell that it wouldn’t withstand the pressure of his grip much longer, and he leaned to coax it carefully from between his fingers. Garp let him do so.

“I’m going to step outside for a moment,” Sengoku said. “You stay here.”

Garp said nothing, but he gave a half-shrug that Sengoku interpreted as ‘whatever’. He placed both bottles on a small coffee table, stood up and walked out of the cabin.

 

*

 

Sengoku had never been much of a smoker, and he’d dropped the habit entirely when he’d met Rosinante. When Rosi died and Sengoku was made fleet admiral a couple of years later, he started smoking again. Only occasionally, when it seemed like he couldn’t take the stress, but still. He didn’t even like the taste, and the smell honestly gave him nausea.

It was exactly what he needed. He smoked three cigarettes in a row, stared blankly at the rigging and the furled sails above him, and went back inside.

Garp had lain down again. He had also downed the contents of his own bottle and seemed to be about halfway through Sengoku’s. He made no gesture to offer it back to him, and Sengoku didn’t ask.

He didn’t sit down this time but walked over to the window instead. The sky was turning dark, and soon its blackness would engulf the horizon. The words Sengoku wanted to get out there still eluded him, but he fought to grasp them. “I know that you did everything you could to give Ace a home,” he said quietly.

“I should’ve done more,” Garp said. Sengoku couldn’t see his face from behind the sofa, but he sounded tired. “I knew what it meant to take him in.”

“Yeah,” Sengoku agreed. “You did. And you still chose to try.”

“And now he’s dead.”

“It’s not your fault. Sometimes,” the words tore themselves out of Sengoku’s throat before he could think about it, “loving someone isn’t enough. It’s all you have to give, and it still isn’t enough. But it doesn’t necessarily mean that you did anything wrong.”

“What do you know about it?” Garp muttered.

_Say it!_ “There was once,” Sengoku forced out, “a child.” That was all he could manage. He felt shame rise to his cheeks; he knew that he should tell Garp, that it could change at least _something_ , something important and painful, but every time he thought about trying to solve the impossible knots he had let form inside himself, he froze.

Garp was quiet for a few seconds. Then his head emerged from behind the backrest. “A child?” he repeated. He sat up properly, staring at Sengoku with a somewhat bleak version of the intensely curious expression that often appeared when Sengoku accidentally let something (usually potentially embarrassing) slip.

“Yes,” Sengoku said hoarsely. He couldn’t look at Garp, so he regarded the flickering oil lamp hung from the ceiling.

“Is this about that boy you dragged home from the North Blue? Rosinante?”

“Yes.”

Garp raised his eyebrows expectantly, but when no further explanation was given, he asked: “So… tell me about it?”

“I can’t,” Sengoku refused. “Maybe someday I can, but not now.” Someday was perhaps an optimistic estimate, but Sengoku wanted to believe in it. Garp groaned and took a mouthful of sake. “You can honestly be such an idiot,” he complained.

“I know,” Sengoku mumbled. “Listen, there are some things that I’m never going to understand. To me, Ace is always going to be a pirate first. I don’t think that will change. But the reason I didn’t want you to put him before your work isn’t that I hated him. Or that I would have wanted to deny him happiness just for the sake of denying it. I just didn’t want you to get torn apart.”

Garp hummed and closed his eyes. “Thanks,” he said. “But this was always about Ace, not me.”

“Well, for me, it was about you,” Sengoku said. _And a bit about myself, and Tsuru, and the three of us together._ It was an incredibly selfish thought.

They were quiet for a long while. Garp slid back down, and, judging by the sounds, found a rogue rice cracker from under a cushion. Sengoku felt a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Okay,” Garp said finally, long after he’d finished munching on the cracker. “Thanks for dropping by. And thanks for the sake. I’d like to be alone now."

“Right,” Sengoku coughed. “I’ll be taking my leave, then.”

Garp watched him collect their bottles into his backpack. On a whim, he also stuffed all the empty donut boxes and cracker bags from Garp’s desk into it. “At least try to take the trash out once in a while,” he said, frustrated. Garp just grinned and chirped, “Why would I? I have a friend who’s about to have a lot of free time when he retires. He can use that time to come and clean up for me.”

“Oh, dream on.”

“But I’m still mad at you for a lot of things,” Garp said, turning his back to Sengoku. “I’m gonna take my time and think about stuff. So don’t come visit me for a while. I’ll let you know when I’m done being angry at you.”

Sengoku nodded, realized that Garp was turned away from him and said, “All right.”

“Mmh. Now get out of here.”

Sengoku closed the door behind himself and stood in the dim corridor for a moment, trying to wrap his head around what had just happened. Talking to Garp had a certain disconcerting effect on Sengoku (and, he believed, most other people); he was often left with the feeling that none of his questions had been answered and that Garp had, in some strange sense, gained the upper hand over him.

“I said get out!” Garp’s voice shouted from behind the door. Sengoku choked a bit and glanced only briefly over his shoulder before walking quickly away and up to the deck. A pair of soldiers observed him carefully when he emerged from the shadows, and then shared a brief look of relief at his unscathed appearance.

Walking back home (home?) Sengoku remembered that, many decades ago, Tsuru would often force them to solve their quarrels by giving them both a smack on the head and sitting them down until they apologized to each other. Simpler times. Apologies weren’t enough anymore. Sengoku wasn’t sure if anything would be enough anymore. There was too much death between them. Garp might never forgive him. (And he might never really forgive Garp. He was scared of how easily the thought came to him.)

But maybe,  _maybe_ he had found something to grasp onto; the bitter end of the Gordian knot that hung between them, harrowing and untouchable. Sengoku had a suspicion that solving it could hurt more than any words they had uttered this evening. 

But it might be worth it. It just might.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very fond of the Garp/Sen/Tsuru trio.
> 
> (edited 11.03.19 - tweaked some minor things.)


End file.
